Aaron followed suit beside me.
I looked at him, trying to get my heart rate under control, and stared.
He was just as shaken as me. Imogen was plastered to his back much like Naomi was to mine.
"My God," Naomi breathed, then scrambled off of the bike behind me.
I followed suit and started running, even though I knew what I'd see.
Pieces of the man's bike were everywhere.
And so was blood.
And other things.
"Fuck," I hissed.
The 'other things' were what worried me. That could've just as easily been me.
I'd seen the oil slick on the road. I'd avoided it, just like Aaron had. But, just like everything else, it was the luck of the draw.
But worrying did me no good, so I boxed it up and compartmentalized it, instead focusing on the fact that there was an emergency scene in front of me, and we were on a blind curve that offered almost zero visibility until you'd already partially rounded the curve.
"Aaron, head on up there and … "
He was already on it, moving up the street at a jog.
Trusting my brother, I turned to find Naomi dropping down to a knee beside what was the biggest part of what was left of the body.
And there sadly wasn't much.
"Dead," she murmured as I approached.
"Oh, my God! Wood!" a woman cried, jumping off of another bike and running toward the scene.
Another biker caught her, one from another unofficial club, Hail House, and kept her from moving into the debris.
He looked at me and I shook my head.
"Wounds incompatible with life," I murmured, filling in the blank.
His face looked ravaged.
It was then I saw the cut, laying by itself, in the middle of the road.
How it'd gotten off, I didn't know. Accidents were so unpredictable, though.
Panic and adrenaline were a dangerous combination for a motorcycle driver. Even the most experienced rider might do things that they wouldn't have normally done. Or they might not do something that they would have, such as avoiding the pieces of wreckage like I'd done.
Sirens sounded in the distance, along with motorcycle pipes.
I knew who was coming back before I had visual proof.
My father had a sixth sense when it came to me. He always had.
When I was in trouble, he would know.
One time in high school, I'd gotten the grand idea to go joyriding in my father's '69 Mustang. It was a lot of power in a small package, and of course, being the dumb sixteen-year-old I'd been, I'd thought I could handle it.
Turned out that I couldn't, and I'd wrecked it spectacularly.
My father had felt that something was wrong and was already headed in my direction.
He showed up in time to help me out of the car.
And about a minute and a half later, the car blew up.
Then the cops showed.
If he had not shown up when he had, my father would've lost his son.
And I felt terrible.
Now, watching him wind the curve, I realized that he was just as worried now as he was back then, almost twenty odd years ago.
His face took in the wreckage, and I saw the moment that terrible feeling crossed his face. He thought it was me who crashed.
I stood up from the crouching position I had been in when I was checking the man's vest, and I immediately waved at my father.
His eyes snapped to me, and I actually saw the relief come over him.
Tommy Tom was the next one to round the curve, followed shortly by Jessie James and Fender.
Jessie James looked just as relieved to see me as my father, and I wondered why.
"Should we do anything else?" Naomi captured my attention.
I looked down at her, studied her pale face, and shook my head.
"No. Nothing we can do at this point," I murmured. "If we were at home and in the medic, I'd have more things I could do, but since this isn't my area, and we're not working, my hands are tied."
She nodded once and started moving toward Imogen, who was trying hard to hold it together.
Her eyes kept straying to what used to be the man's body, and I grimaced.
I captured Naomi's hand and urged her to follow me.
Once we made it to Imogen, I captured her hand as well, and pulled both women securely into the circle of my arms.
"Do you think Aaron will kill me for hugging his girl?" I rumbled, trying to capture Imogen's attention.
"No," Imogen sniffled, sounding relieved. "As long as your hands stay above the waist, I'm sure he'll be good."
I grinned. "Duly noted."
"Sean."
I looked up to find my father barreling down on me.
Before I could let the women go, my father had his hulking arms around all three of us, pulling us into his big, barrel chest and shaking with pent up emotion.